Red
by elliott ashes
Summary: WillowTara. An alternate take on season six, particularly the magic addiction plot. "There's a place where metaphor blurs into reality, where chemistry blurs into poetry. It's the type of truth that ignites you molecule by molecule, blazing up until you're nothing, or until you're something more than people are meant to be."
1. Prologue

Red  
Prologue

The sky unwinds like a typewriter ribbon. A desperate spiral of black falls away at the ends, tumbles on and on like an impossible number. A kaleidoscope of dimensions become gleaming insect eyes, diamond-fractured and -

"Wil, what did you _do?" _

The ribbon tightens, recedes. Molecules spin, confused, change their orbit mid-direction. My head feels hollow and huge; thoughts bounce around without words, flashes of colours that may of may not exist. Shiny ghosts of the two faces that had been in front of me a moment or an eternity ago, blonde women with concerned eyes that made me want to -

I've forgotten. I am too far away.

"Willow, answer me! What spell was that?"

Her voice rages through plastic, takes ten thousand years to pass into my head. When it comes, my mouth is dry.

"Tara, it's okay. Get her some water." Another voice. I know her and I know she's lying. And I want to care, but all I notice is my body is falling. Wind cuts at my edges and bright specks burst behind or in front of my eyes. Is the wind inside me too?

And suddenly I _know: _I can fix this. I can fix everything. I can split open my skin and the most real part of myself will emerge, free. I was trapped, but I know the way out, and it's so _clear - _

"Here it is."

"Wil!"

Through the strange, slow air, a sensation on the body that no longer feels like mine. Cold. Like heavy curtains, I force the eyelids to open.

Orange light falls from streetlamps.

"Willow." Tara's arms around me. She presses her head into my neck. Her hair is soft and her eyes are wet. "I was so worried -"

"We all were," Buffy cuts her off. "Wil, you didn't need to do that."

Repeating my name. That freaked-out tell.

"I had to -" a cough wracks my body - "help. You."

"I had it covered."

"You did not! You were surrounded by vamps!" The anger in my voice surprises me, not a sound I'm used to hearing. But I can't bring myself down - my skin is hot and my thoughts race, and most of all, I'm _right. _

"Exactly, Wil. _Vamps. _Nothing that warranted - this." She gestures around us, and I examine the area.

The ground is burnt, brown dirt scorched with black. Trees waver leafless in the wind, and a set of stumps protrude from the ground where a picnic table used to be.

And I know it shouldn't be, really know it shouldn't be, but the first thing I feel is pride. _I _did that.

Before magic, I'd never thought of myself as strong.

"Wil, you could have killed us."

"I saved you! You should be thanking me!"

"What kind of spell was that?" says Tara. She sits beside me, cross-legged in the dirt. Her expression is even, but her left shoe shakes up and down in the air. "I mean, it wasn't a standard spacial displacement."

"I modified it. Upped the oomph factor."

"So you adjusted the power regulation controls?"

"I kind of... took them off."

"Okay," says Buffy, "I don't need to speak Wicca to know that is major unsafe."

"Only if you don't concentrate." I sit up, which is a mistake. The ground swings back and forth, and nausea slams against the back of by head. Tara strokes my hair, and I fight the urge to shut my eyes - not a great way to make my point. "I was in control the whole time."

"Really? 'Cause it sure as hell didn't look like it." Buffy twirls her stake in her hand. Her movements still look ready to stab something.

"It's fine - Tara, you trust me, right?"

"I think... I think Buffy might have a point."

"What? Tara, you know how strong I am."

"That might be the problem. None of us were ready for that big a spell, and when you passed out... Willow, I was really worried."

My mouth is acidic with anger, but her eyes are wet, and the fire inside me goes out. "Hey, hey it's okay. I'm fine." I put my arms around her. We're exhausted and covered in dirt, but she feels like safety and my whole body relaxes. "We're fine."

"Promise you'll tell us if you do a spell like that again?"

"Promise." I brush her cheek and smile, looking into the green ocean of her eyes. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah." She nods. "Let's go home."

"See you at the house, Buffy," I say, taking Tara's arm as we walk back towards the sidewalk.

"Wil!" Buffy shouts from behind. I turn. "You're... you're okay, right?"

"Yeah," I say, making my voice bright. I smile again. "I'm good."

"Okay." She fiddles with the stake, then slips it back into her pocket. "Yeah, I'll see you there."

I squeeze Tara's hand. "Come on." And we continue walking. The sky is dull black, blotched with blue where the clouds open up. It's nothing compared to the glistening panorama I saw back there.

My chest tightens with the lie I've told. I don't think I'm okay. But I don't know if what I am is better or worse.

**Author's note: **Hi, thank you so much for reading my story! I was inspired to write this when I rewatched _Once More, With Feeling _and was struck by how much Buffy's description of being brought back to life resonated with my experiences of depersonalization. I've always had some issues with season six, as the "magic as addiction" metaphor seemed inconsistent with how magic was portrayed in previous seasons, but the way Buffy's state related to depression and dissociated caused me to think of altered mental states on the other end of the spectrum - that sort of hyper-aware, superconnected, invincible feeling. It made sense for me to associate this with magic, because A) when "up", I am able to get so much done that it sometimes does feel like a superpower, and B) although it is great to feel happy, even if it's abnormally happy considering the circumstances, when it progresses to recklessness it can become incredibly difficult to deal with. This seems to fit with how, when her powers are less strong, Willow's use of magic is helpful and empowering, but as they become stronger, they grow more destructive to her and those around her.

I hope you like my story, and I would be very grateful if you let me know what you think.


	2. Light

Red  
Chapter One  
Light

Morning falls through the curtains in sheets of light. A stream of orange filters past my eyelids, and I turn to put my arm around Tara. But there's only space.

When I open my eyes, I am alone with the warm crumple in the sheets and an indent in the pillow. A faint scent I associate with spells, candles, herbs, home.

I sit up and comb my fingers through my hair, slide on a pair of slippers and walk out into the hallway.

"I know, I'll talk to her." The serious note in Tara's voice makes me pause before I walk into the kitchen.

"It's just, I'm worried," says Buffy. "She's been acting differently lately." I walk as close as I can while remaining in the hallway, out of view.

"I know," says Tara. "But… it's been hard for her. For all of us - we lost you, and now you're back, and we're glad you're back, but it's… it's huge, Buffy. Things changed so much so fast, and then they changed back."

"I'm not sure they're ever going to change back," says Buffy quietly.

"Hey." The sound of a mug or plate being put down. "You are happy, aren't you? Being back?" I can picture Tara's face, the worry in her eyes. I want to walk into the room, to put my arms around her and hold on until she feels better. But that doesn't seem right, after overhearing a private conversation (about me? I don't want to assume, but who else could it be?). Besides, it isn't my reassurance she needs.

And to be honest, I've been wondering too. It's unnerving, how sometimes I'll talk to Buffy, and her eyes will go right through me. At the end of the conversation, I know she hasn't heard a word I said, know she's been gone the whole time. But I don't know where she went.

"Of course," says Buffy firmly. "Tara, you don't even need to ask - it's amazing to be with my friends again, to be here for Dawn - I would have done anything to have this chance."

"Okay. Good, I was just... making sure."

Buffy sighs. "Guess I've been kind of out of it, huh?"

"It's not your fault. Anyone would be."

"I wish there was, like, a _Resurrection for Dummies_ out there. A guide to getting back to all the... life-ness."

"At least," says Tara, "if you've died _twice _now, in the service of good, you've got to have some major karma points this lifetime."

"Third lifetime's the charm." A pause, and the clink of dishes being cleared away. "But do you really think that's it? For Willow, I mean - just change stuff?"

"I'm not sure. I'll talk to her, though. About toning down the magic. To be honest… I kind of miss how things were, too." My heart speeds up painfully. _What does she mean? What's wrong with now?_

"Hey," says Buffy. There's a pause, and I wonder if she's hugged her. "You two are great together. You'll get through this." _Through what?_

"Thanks," says Tara. "I know. I love her so much… but I guess that's why it's scary. Sometimes I wonder if she's really happy, or if it's just the magic."

"Of _course _she's happy. She's got an amazing girlfriend. Told me herself."

Tara laughs. "Thanks."

"Whatever's going on with her, I'm sure she'll tell you. She really loves you."

I'm not sure if they talk any more. I walk back to the room, careful to keep my steps silent. At the edge of the bed, I fold into myself and try to think.

Why wouldn't I be happy? I love Tara, and Buffy's back, and I'm getting stronger - isn't this what I want? What we all want? Why are they upset with me for living in a way that makes me, finally, feel good about myself? The world needs people to fight the forces of evil, and the stronger I am, the better we'll be able to deal with them. The better our chances of _survival. _Is there something about this I'm not getting?

First I try to be angry. They shouldn't have been talking about me like, I don't know, the weather. _Unpredictable. _I'm their friend, not a tornado. If they want to know what I'm going to do, they don't have to try and predict me. They could just ask.

But my anger fizzles out like drops of water on a frying pan, losing substance and floating away. Because to be honest, if they'd asked, I'm not sure what I would have said.

I want to be good at magic, and I want to be good, in general. Every time I think about it, it sounds so simple. But then I do a spell, and magic floods my veins, and I'm higher than I've ever felt before. I have no fear. I'm not the stuttering high schooler, scared of Cordelia, scared of her own voice. I'm a force. I've defeated _death. _And if I have some vanity about that, haven't I earned it?

Tara's talked to me about reducing our magic use, says she'll do it together with me, to support me. Like magic is an addiction, a drug.

It's not a drug. It's not that easy.

I want to tell her that magic isn't some outside substance I put inside me. It was there, in my body and mind, to begin with. I just had to open the door.

When I learned to float pencils, I felt it, that first connection to something greater. Like the strings of an instrument, vibrating with sound. A harmony that held the world together. It felt like possibility.

When I'm using magic, colours are brighter. Birds are a symphony and a slice of sunlight is golden artwork. Memories connect like lines between stars, filling up the sky with light, and everything makes _sense. _I can't explain it, because words haven't reached that plane. But there's a place where metaphor blurs into reality, where chemistry blurs into poetry, and suddenly, I understand.

Magic isn't distortion. It's pure truth. The type of truth that ignites you molecule by molecule, blazing up until you're nothing, or until you're something no human's ever been before.

I want Tara to come back. I want to tell her this. I want her to understand why, even if I can't explain what I'm doing, I have to do it.

Instead, I crawl back under the covers and pretend to be asleep.

**a/n**: Thank you so much to everyone who followed/favourited this story, and to TazFlan93 for the review! It means so much to me that people are interested in this story. I hope everyone has a wonderful new year. I am starting school soon, but will try to update this story at least once every two weeks.


	3. Dark

Red  
Chapter Two  
Dark

On the other side of my skin, something moves. My face is sticky with sweat and blood, a dull sting deep in my arms.

Inside, something moves.

My cells realign to make space. Muscle fibres tear, come apart and move together as pain sends white sparks through my vision. And then I rise, lifted out of my skin. I choke. My lungs struggle to grab hold of air, but the spell is working. A force like water surrounds me, spins. My physical body is pulled in all directions, but mentally, there is no division between the force and myself. I have funnelled myself into the spell, and with the network of power I weave between dimensions.

I tug at universal laws like harp strings, releasing them with a surge of vibrations. I feel like I could die, but the music is beautiful.

"Willow."

Tara touches my arm.

"Yeah?" I jerk my head up, coming face to face with a tablefull of Giles' books.

"I was just wondering what you were thinking about."

Tara stares down at her hands, the way she did around her family. Her whole aura seems to crumple, and I realize too late the defensive quality my voice had held.

I touch her arm, feeling stung and guilty at the same time. "Oh," I say, "just school stuff."

She squeezes my hand under the table. "If you want to talk, I'm always here."

"Thanks." I smile, and she smiles back. Breathing gets easier.

"Alright," Giles' voice echoes through the room as he enters.

"Maybe later," I say to Tara, who nods.

_The magicks I used are very powerful. I'm very powerful. So maybe it's not such a good idea to piss me off._

My last conversation with Giles echoes through my head and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. My insides twist painfully. But as he enters, he barely even glances as me.

"Does anyone have any new - oh. I trust the others haven't made it yet?"

_You rank, arrogant amateur._

"Not yet," I say.

"Although Anya's in the back room, counting up the money," says Tara.

"Right. Well, I suppose it's reassuring that recent events haven't upset routine too significantly."

"Was that... sarcasm?" I ask.

Her examines a spot on his glasses. "You know, I'm honestly not sure."

"I am here!" exclaims Xander, throwing his hands into the air as the door closes behind him. "And where might my lovely lady be found?"

"Money," say the three of us, and Xander says, "Should have guessed. Um, Buffy suffered a minor cooking calamity -"

"Is she okay?" asks Tara.

"Yes, but the toaster suffered some third degree burns and tragically might not make it. So, she asked me to pass it on that she will be late."

"Yes, well, what with saving the world for us, I suppose one can be forgiven a toast mishap now and again," says Giles, though his brow is furrowed.

Anya returns from the back room, embracing Xander with a cry of "Xander-bear!" causing him to blush and the rest of us to busy ourselves in something that looks like work. The book of vampire lore I've got is a bit old-Englishy for my tastes, but I'll take it over my childhood friend's very public, very embarrassed shows of affection. And once I get through the prosiness of the prose, the text is actually kind of interesting. How vampires travelled the world looking for the Valley of the Sun and the Gem of Amara. How even immortal creatures are willing to risk their lives - I mean, existences - for a chance to be something greater.

When Buffy and Dawn come in, the two smell of smoke and Buffy's eyes are tired.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," says Buffy. Her head jerks up in the way that's become familiar since she came back. Like she's surprised to see us. I wonder what happened to her, to change her so much. I wonder why she won't let us help.

_Give the girl a break, she just got back from hell. She's doing the best she can. _

"It was a busy night," says Dawn helpfully. "With the days getting longer, Buffy's been putting in a lot of hours."

That's never affected her before, but Giles nods anyway. "Anything unusual to report?"

Buffy pauses before saying, "Nope. Since Willow and Tara helped with the thermogravity -"

"Thaumogenesis," I say.

"Right - weird floaty-thing - it's been… quieter. I'm just, you know, getting used to being… back."

"If there's anything at all -" says Giles.

"I'll be fine." Buffy smiles. "But thanks."

And she walks forward and embraces him. He startles briefly, then hugs her too. "I'm glad you're back," says Buffy.

"And I you."

I have to look away. Giles' eyes shine, and for the first time in months, emotion tugs in my chest with force greater than magic.

…

At the conclusion of the meeting, Giles calls my name as everyone files out the door. "Willow, a word?"

"I'll get dinner started," says Tara, kissing me goodbye. She's gone so quickly that for a brief moment, I'm convinced she and Giles have planned this discussion together. My chest tightens painfully - what if he told her? What if he's turned her against me, too?

But when everyone's left, Giles simply says, "Sit down, please."

"Okay," I say, sitting down in a chair. He remains standing, and I feel as though I'm listening to a lecture at school - though unlike at school, my heart beats so fast it feels like it will overheat. "So what do you want to talk about?"

"I think you know."

I open my mouth to say something, but no words come to my tongue.

"I'll take that as a yes," says Giles. There's a bluntness in his voice and I don't want to call it accusatory, but it's pretty darn hard to think of anything else to call it.

"Dark doesn't always mean evil," I say. "Sometimes it's dark because it's hidden."

"Where magic is concerned, there are valid reasons for certain spells being hidden. I respect your interests in… widening your range of knowledge, but these aren't realm to be entered without guidance."

"Well, then guide me!" my voice comes out louder than I intend, and my skin burns - figuratively, but the intensity isn't much less than would start a magical fire.

Very calmly, Giles sits down across from me. Behind his glasses, his eyes stare into mine. "I have known you for years, and this isn't who I know you to be."

"Don't I get a say in who I am?"

"Willow," he says. "I of all people know the allure of magic, and it's not my place to judge you. But I feel obligated to do whatever I can to keep you and your friends safe."

His eyes flick down towards the table at the end of the sentence. His fingers knit together as though in prayer, and I remember what this means to him. Losing Buffy broke something in all of us, and he was the most certain she was really gone. He was the one who'd protected her for years, guiding her through this world none of us knew about, and then she was gone -

The anger flickers out and I want to cry.

"I thought you'd be happy she was back." I keep my voice quiet so he won't hear it shake.

"I am," he says. "Of course I am."

"Then what did I do wrong?"

"The fact you kept it a secret makes me think you know that."

I stare down at my hands and scrape away a chip of purple polish.

Giles touches my shoulder. "You're a bright young woman, and I understand your desire to learn. I know you hold great power within you. But where magic is involved, ability and intelligence aren't always the most important factors."

"Then what is?"

"Wisdom." His eyes are on me again. "And control. You have done great things, and I don't doubt you will continue to do so. But there are times when the greatest act is to refrain from involvement."

"If you mean it was wrong to bring back Buffy, I can't agree with that."

"She told you she was in hell," says Giles. I nod and he sighs. "You must know how stupid what you did was."

I nod, my eyes stinging.

"I'm glad she's safe. Of course I am. But did you have any indication prior to the spell that something had gone wrong with her afterlife?"

"Just… a feeling."

"What sort of feeling?"

"Like something was wrong in the world."

"I think we all felt that," he says. "We were grieving." He looks down at the table scattered with books. "I should clean up."

"I'll help."

"Thank you."

We stack the shelves in silence, and when there's nothing left to do, we remain standing. "Thanks," I say into the silence. "For talking to me. No one's really doing that lately."

"They're adjusting to a lot of changes," says Giles. "Are you and Tara well?"

"I think so. Just… it's hard, sometimes. She's not such a fan of the new magic, either."

"She wants you to be safe," says Giles. I nod. "Funny how annoying it can be, having people who care about us." He says it gently, and I smile. "But it does make our lives more meaningful."

"It's not like I'm angry with her. I just wish I had someone to talk to who, you know, understood."

"You have my number," says Giles. "I can't promise to understand, as I've never experienced the sort of power you possess - but I know the technical, and to my own degree, the emotional aspects of magic. You may phone me anytime, and I will speak to you honestly."

Like Buffy, I embrace him. "Thank you."

"Promise you will talk to me before attempting any experimental magic?"

"I will."

I'm tired when I leave the Magic Box, but it's not a bad kind of tired. For the first time in a while, my thoughts have stopped racing.

**a/n: **Thank you for reading the latest chapter of my story, and thank you especially to Muffyn1 and TazFlan93 for their reviews!


	4. Dreamless

**a/n** I made some edits to the last chapter, since I realized there were some inconsistencies with when this story takes place. It's set after season six, episode five. Thank you to TazFlan93 for the review on the last chapter!

Red  
Chapter Three  
Dreamless

"You're home." Tara rises from the kitchen and hugs me as I come through the door. I embrace her back, looking towards Dawn and Buffy seated around the table.

"I hope I didn't make you guys wait," I say.

"It's alright," says Dawn, "we were just talking."

I glance towards Buffy, who's staring into her spoon like it's a portal to another world. I want to believe Dawn, but I'm not sure how talkative Buffy is right now.

"Hey," I say, and hug Buffy too.

She looks up and smiles. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. Just missed you."

"I missed you too. But really, you don't have to worry. I'm not going away again." Her words at the end sound tired; I guess she's had this discussion a lot lately.

"We know," says Tara. "But having you back, it's been a big change - the best kind of big change, of course."

"Speaking of courses, I think the pasta should be ready," Buffy says.

"How was school, Dawn?" asks Tara once we're eating.

"Anarchy versus dictatorship - you know, the usual."

"And Buffy?"

"Hm?"

"Your day - how was it?"

"It was... day-y. Job hunt is slogging along."

"That's good," I say. "Well, not the sloggy part, but the job - that should be good."

"I don't know. At this rate I'd be happy with McDonald's."

"Any job would be lucky to have you," says Tara.

"Yeah," I echo, "You have tons of skills."

"Thanks. I just wish apocalypse-stopping looked a bit better on a resume."

We don't talk much more for the rest of the meal.

...

Tara slides in next to me in bed and I try to keep my eyes fixed on my sociology textbook. It's not easy. All my instinct and muscle memory wants to curl up next to her, but I stop myself.

"So what did Giles want to talk about?" she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. Her hair is warm and soft, but I don't let myself lean back.

"You mean you don't know?" My voice is bitter without the energy of anger.

She looks at me like an outlet that's given her an electrical shock. "What's wrong?"

"I - nothing, I... forget I said anything."

"Willow." She strokes my arm and okay, it feels good. Okay, I really want to kiss her, what with her being all close, and beautiful, and Tara. But that doesn't make me not upset.

She says, "If I did something wrong, I want to know. The last thing I want is to hurt you."

I set the textbook on the bedside table. "This morning in the kitchen... I heard you with Buffy."

It takes a moment for understanding to fall across her face.

"If I'm doing something wrong, I want to know too," I say. "It's just... I don't understand why everyone suddenly thinks I'm so different and scary."

"Hey," says Tara. She touches my cheek and the corner of my mouth twitches up, despite how I feel. "No one thinks you're scary. We're worried, is all."

"But... there's nothing to be worried about. I'm still me."

"I know," says Tara. "And you're the only person like you I've ever met, and the only one I could ever love like I love you, and... it's hard, to see you put yourself in danger. I need you in my life. You're my Willow."

"And you're my Tara," I say. I kiss her; her lips are warm and inviting. She smells of mint toothpaste and jasmine shampoo and our home together. "You don't have to worry. I really am safe."

"Some of the spells you do... Of course I worry. You're doing things that have never been done before, and I just wish you'd do them a little more carefully."

"I know, but the way it feels in the moment - you know, how your thoughts start rushing, and you tap into that reservoir of power, and everything just feels so boundless?"

"I'm not sure," says Tara.

"What? But you've been doing magic for years, you have to know..."

"I think it's different, for you. When I do a spell, I feel... anchored. The way the earth moves through me, it reminds me I'm real."

"That's the same for me! Everything moves into place, and you're so plugged into the universe, and then everything feels kind of faded once it's over."

"That's not really how it is for me," she says. Something must show on my face, because she quickly adds, "I mean, I do love magic. I love how our energies flow through each other, that feeling of closeness. But... I'm just as happy being close to you in other ways."

I lean in and kiss her deeply. Her hand moves along my back, lighting up my spine like a trail of sparks. When we seperate, breathless, I say, "I love you."

She kisses me again. "I love you too." Then, hesitantly, she adds, "You are happy, aren't you?"

I run my hand through her hair. "Of course."

She falls asleep before I do, and I sit in the dark and listen to her breathe.

Of course I'm happy. Buffy's back, and Tara and I are okay, and Giles isn't even angry anymore... why wouldn't I be happy? And if Tara and I don't feel the same way about magic, that's not like it changes anything. We still love each other. Even if magic is different for her, that doesn't mean I'm the _only _one out there who experiences things like I do.

_There are others who could do what you did. You just wouldn't want to meet them. _

I take a deep breath of night air. It's okay. Everything worked out; I'm still the good guy. And it's not like I'm planning any big new spells, anyway.

I don't know when I fall asleep, but I wake up to the sound of a scream.


	5. Haunted

**a/n:** Thank you so much to TazFlan93 and JustJane18 for the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Sorry I'm a few days late with the update, I'm applying to study in Taiwan for two months and I'm trying to get everything together! P.S., I'm thinking of writing a companion piece dealing with Buffy's experiences in the psychiatric hospital and how she feels about being resurrected. Would anyone be interested?

Red  
Chapter Four  
Haunted

Tara and I almost crash into Dawn in the hallway.

"What was that?" says Dawn, her voice tight with panic.

"It wasn't you?" I say.

"Buffy?" calls Dawn. I reach for her arm, not wanting her to run into danger, but she sprints to her sister's room before I can touch her. "Buffy!"

Tara and I are in the doorway a moment later, ready for the worst. But in the swash of orange light that falls through the doorframe, Buffy is asleep in her bed.

I scan the shadows moving on the walls, but they're just tree branches filtered through the curtains. "Then where-"

"Listen," says Tara.

A mumble escapes Buffy's mouth. The sound starts out barely audible, but it builds. "No… No, stop…"

Tara touches her shoulder. "Buffy."

Buffy swats in her general direction, eyes still closed. "Leave my mom alone! Go!" Her voice rises and she gives a punch to the pillow.

"Buffy!"

She gasps and her eyes snap open.

"It's okay," says Tara. "You had a nightmare."

"Where am… Oh," says Buffy. She pushes her hair back, and speaks calmly, though still breathing hard, "Yeah. That's been happening lately."

"You were screaming," I say. "We thought it was Dawn at first."

"Gee, thanks," says Dawn.

"No, it's just… that's not really a Buffy sound. Slayers aren't very scream-y people."

"What were you dreaming about?" says Dawn, sitting down on the bed beside her sister.

"Nothing, really," says Buffy. She adds in a mumble, "Vampire."

"Was it the master?" says Dawn. She looks up at Tara and I. "When we were younger, she'd dream about him all the time. This was before I knew she was a slayer, but I'd hear through the walls and I knew something weird was -"

"No," says Buffy. "It was just… you know, a regular old vamp."

"You sounded really scared," I say.

"Well, it was the first vamp I saw." When none of us says anything, she continues. "It was back when I didn't know anything about vampires, and the only slayer I'd ever heard of was the loud guys with the guitars, and… there he was. This creepy, awful thing… looking in my window. And my mom, she was out there, she was coming home from getting groceries, and…" She tries to put a laugh into her voice, but it comes out shaky. "Anyway, I won."

"Oh, Buffy." I sit down next to her and Dawn. "That must have been horrible."

"Yeah," she says. She rubs her eyes, as if from sleep. I wonder if she's wiping away tears before they can fall, but when she speaks her voice is steady. "It's over. I don't have to think about it anymore."

There's something she isn't saying. It hangs between us like fog, making the air heavy.

I say, "So… it was just a nightmare, right? You're okay?"

"Yeah," she says, her voice too bright. "All good."

She stands up, smoothes the wrinkles from her sushi pajama pants, and walks over towards the closet. "I'm, um, going to do an early-morning patrol. I don't feel much like sleeping anymore."

"I'll go with you," I say. "I'm feeling pretty wakeful, too."

"Just don't sleep through sociology," says Tara. "Mike marks hard on participation."

"Hey, do I seem like the kind of girl who'd miss her classes? Especially her class-with-her-girlfriend kind of classes," I say, and Tara smiles. I head to our room to get changed.

…

Night falls over the neighbourhood like purple ink. A spot of orange dribbles over the horizon, but there's still enough darkness for a risk-taking vamp - not to mention a whole other assortment of nasty demon-things. A couple streetlights radiate orange, the light haloing like the stars in a Van Gogh painting. Or like the artificial glow of a t.v. screen.

It's true what I said - I feel very, very awake. But it's not really a good kind of awake. Despite what I say about not needing magic - and it's _true_ - that doesn't mean I don't _like _using it. In the day I've been without it, I feel the absence. It's like I'm a radio wave, tuned to a slightly different frequency than everything around me - like I'm passing through the world and not exactly touching it. I mean, I know everything around me is real, but I can't shake the feeling that if I squint at the landscape, or maybe at myself, I'll be able to see the pixels.

"Wil," says Buffy. "You okay?"

"Yup," I say quickly. "Peachy keen."

"You sure? You're acting kind of… well, like everyone says I've been acting."

I have no idea how to answer that. Willow-brain settles on opening my mouth, closing it, and then opening it again to feign ignorance. "What do you mean?"

Buffy shrugs. "I don't know. Quiet. Out of it."

"Well, I did get woken up in the middle of the night." I mean it as a joke, but her face tells me it's the wrong thing to say. "No, Buffy, I didn't mean it. Nightmares - not your fault."

"It's okay," she says, with the kind of laugh people use when nothing's funny. "It's just not…" She trails off, then glances at me. My face must look as worried as I feel, because she says, "Not the kind of thing I like to think about anymore."

"And that's totally okay," I say. "You're the slayer. You've saved us all from vampires, and apocalypse…s…i, _and_ you do it all while rocking leather pants." That gets an actual smile from her, and I continue, "No one thinks any less of you because you don't want to think about past stuff. But… it's like you said, Buffy. You won. No matter how traumatizing that vamp was, you overcame that fear and you staked him. You made it out okay, and it's over now."

"Yeah," says Buffy, though her eyes have clouded over again. "Yeah, that's… right."

It's that sensation inside me, buzzing in my blood like carbonation - not exactly tired, but needing some connection to energy, needing _something_ to happen - that forces the words I'm thinking out from under my tongue. "Buffy… Is there something else?"

She looks down the street, then at me, then fiddles with her stake, twirls it in her hand like a pencil, and thinks. "No," she says finally. Then, quickly, she adds, "Well, my parents were kind of weirded out. And that made things… weird, for a bit. But like you said, it's over."

I nod, and we walk deeper into the purple dark.


	6. Noises

Red  
Chapter Five  
Noises

"I hear something."

After a half-hour walk with nothing happening, Buffy suddenly stops. As we pause, I hear it too: the pop and crack of snapping twigs. A _lot _of snapping twigs. Getting louder, closer.

Buffy and I walk towards the sound.

"Huh," says Buffy, when we locate the source, and I second that.

Not to be judgey, but it's kinda impressive when something manages to look weird by demon standards. Stumbling through the bushes, the moonlight glitters on a wrinkly, bat-eared demon with skin like wet, grey paint. The demon is the size of a short, chubby person, and moans as he moves awkwardly through the bushes.

"Oh no," he says as he sees us. His voice is wet, high-pitched, and utterly non-threatening. He bows his head. Dangling from his arm, he clutches a slurpee the size of my torso. "Well, this day can't get worse."

The demon is a bit like a shorter, pastier version of Clem, and I don't think either Buffy or I feel particularly threatened.

"Uh," says Buffy. "What are you doing here?"

"And who are you?" I add. Both of us avoid the obvious question of _what _the demon is.

"Milton," he says. "And I would be minding my own business if I hadn't just been kicked out of my cave."

"Who kicked you out?" says Buffy.

"Those M'Fashniks - a whole team of them against one Yarbnie, and in the middle of the night. Never should have come to Sunnydale; they said it would be safer than L.A., said it would be quieter, and then -"

"M'Fashniks," repeats Buffy. She turns to me. "That's what attacked me at the bank." She looks back at Milton's milky eyes. "Do you know why they came here?"

"They said something about a deal, keeping watch on the - wait." He stumbles back. His strange eyes widen inside their folds of skin. "You're… I can't get involved in this."

He turns to make an escape, but Buffy easily catches up with his shuffling run. "Wait," she says. "Yeah, I'm the slayer. And that means that if something bad is going on, you want me on your side."

As he looks at me, even more anxiety registers in his face. The look in his eyes makes me feel as though I've done something wrong, and a flash of guilt moves through me before I can make any sense of it. "You're that witch," he says.

"I'm _a _witch," I say.

"You brought the slayer back."

It should make me proud, shouldn't it? That even the demon world knows who I am? Or nervous, even. But the way he looks at me, like I'd look at… well, a demon, I guess - my insides get all uncomfortable. _He's not a human, _I remind myself. _Just because he doesn't like what you did, it doesn't mean you did anything wrong. _

_You rank, arrogant amateur. _

Damn it, Giles. Why don't your compliments ever echo in my head?

I try to shake it off. "Yeah," I say, "Yeah, we're a pretty strong team, the slayer and me. So if you need some bad guys fought off, you can feel pretty safe with us."

Milton takes a long drink from his sluppee, eyes still wide.

"We'll find you a place to stay," says Buffy. "If we're going to take on a group of M'Fashniks, we'll need some time to prepare."

…

The place to stay turns out to be Spike's place. "I don't know," I say, pulling Buffy out of the Yarbnie demon's earshot. "I can't see Spike being very hospitable."

"He'll have to be," says Buffy. "I've got the stake. Besides, he hasn't been _that _bad lately."

"I noticed. What's wrong with him?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. It's kind of nice." She sees my look and quickly adds, "I mean, if you like vamps." Adds again, "Bad, soulless vamps."

She walks Milton over towards the cemetery while I head home to get ready for school. I'm finally feeling the lack of sleep - a headache spins in my brain like Amy in her wheel. The colours of the sunrise hurt.

And I've got a test in two hours.

Don't get me wrong, I love sociological theory as much as the next girl, but it kind of fell by the wayside with the resurrection, and the thaumogenesis, and the… Giles yelling at me. And everyone else being mad at me.

I've always loved reading, but a textbook isn't like a spellbook. Facts don't imprint themselves on your mind, glittering in burnt gold and black-purple, intertwining and creating new shapes. I guess maybe they do, if you really like facts. But it's hard to care so much about the natural world once you've seen the supernatural. It starts to seem like a thin, shallow surface you have to crack to get through to anything that matters.

Not that I'm planning on giving up my grades. But I think it might be time to try something new.

I try the usual methods first, of course. Put on a pot of tea and lay out the textbook in front of me, inhale as the room fills with the scent of jasmine. But once I've funnelled the caffeine into my mouth and scanned my gaze across the text and nothing miraculous has happened, I'm kind of glad I'll need something a bit stronger if I'm going to learn this.

Giles wanted to know before I try any big spells, but this is a little thing. A little energy transference: use now and pay later. Not a biggie. I can crash tonight and have some downtime. And for now, double-focus.

I go into the backyard and sprinkle a circle of herbs around me as I recite the incantation. The effect is immediately noticeable - a burst of gold-flecked wind puffs over me, moving over my skin like static. The gold continues to glitter around me once the smell is over, and my nerves prickle just enough to feel good. I kick the herbs into the grass, which is suddenly a neon forest around my shoes. When I return to the table, the words glisten as invitingly as any spell, and tea has never tasted better.

**a/n: **Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think, be it criticism, praise, or some of each. I had some extra time today so I've already written the next chapter, and I will post it as soon as I get feedback on this one. This chapter wasn't my favourite, as it's mostly just setting out plot, but I had a lot of fun with the next one.


	7. Gold

a/n: I'm not sure if anyone reads this story anymore, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it so I'm going to continue it anyway.

Red  
Chapter Seven  
Gold

I blink gold specks out of my eyes.

The spell clings to my vision, leaving moving shapes like when you stare off into sleep, waiting for your thoughts to shut down. But brighter. I make myself look down, focus on the test in front of me. My head feels like a bowl of fighting fish, but my thoughts are clear. Or at least, there's a lot of them.

Each question pulls out a string of ideas - sociological theory, math, memories. The images press close together, overlapping before I can explain the connections. It's like being in a dream; all these thoughts flash on my mind without any linear coherence, but definitely _feel _like they mean something. Quotes from the class all bumped up next to math formulas and spellwork, images of demons and a feeling like my head is too light, like it could detach from my body and fly away. I catch myself writing something about vampires and frantically scribble it out, sensing the eyes of my classmates fall on me at the loud scratching.

By the time the class ends, my morning confidence has turned to twitchiness. The posters on the wall batter me with a headache of colours, and the white noise of conversation is a swarm. And I just want those damn _spots _to go away.

I move my eyes, but the spots don't follow, flittering around on their own volition. But no one else even seems to notice them. There's a big cloud of them, fireflying around me, mostly, and an occasional flicker around someone else.

Then Tara stands up to join me. She radiates with the orbits of _tons _of them, the lit center of a flame with sparks flecking off her.

"What's wrong?" she asks, and I make myself stop staring.

"Nothing," I say. Even in the Wicca world, seeing things isn't a good sign. At least, not until you know what those things are. "How was the test?" It's probably nothing, I remind myself. Just a side-effect from the spell, or lack of sleep.

"Pretty good, I think. Did you get what he was saying about network analysis?"

"I think so," I say. I wrote about twenty pages - I hope that, somewhere in there, I actually answered the questions.

My rib cage feels tight and pokey, and my lungs too flattened to get enough air. It's just one test, I remind myself. My grades have always been good; I can make up for it.

And the gold things humming around my girlfriend don't seem harmful. Maybe they're the nice, pretty kind of supernatural hallucinations.

"Are you sure you're alright?" says Tara, and I nod. We join the line at the cafeteria. "How was patrolling?"

I avert my eyes from the gold things, focus on the can of orange juice I'm buying. The change of topic helps my lungs unclench a bit. "Good! Demon-y, but good." I pay for the juice and my pasta, then tell her about Milton and the M'fashnik demons as we sit down. "But it's all good," I add, seeing the concern in her face. "We found their base, Buffy can get her crossbow and you and I work on a spell and - poof. No more stabby guys."

"Yeah, I'm sure we can manage it," Tara says. "But it's weird, isn't it? A group of them all getting together, right in the city when all the books say they work separately as contract criminals. That many assassins in one place... it's kind of a bad sign. You said Milton mentioned a plot against the Slayer?"

"Well, being plotted against is kind of in Buffy's job description."

Tara pokes at her spaghetti. I touch her hand and smile at her. "It's alright. We got the head start on them, and they don't even suspect. We'll work really hard tonight and find out what's going on. Like you said, we're stronger than them."

She interlocks her fingers with mine. "You're right. Thanks, Willow."

The warmth of her smile makes my insides go all fluttery, but in a good way this time. It's pretty amazing when someone can make you feel like that, even after you've been together almost two years. Right now, I don't understand how we could ever disagree on anything. I'd do anything to keep her smiling like this.

"No problem," I say.

"It's good to see you happy again," she says. "I know things have been kind of weird lately."

"Of course I'm happy," I say. "I have you. And Buffy's back, and hey, demon plot? That fits the Sunnydale definition of normal."

She puts her arms around me and I hug her back.

…

"What your acquaintance told you was true," says Giles, setting down an encyclopedia of demonology on the table. "Yarbnie demons are a non-destructive, urban-based species, subsisting alongside humans while drawing as little attention as possible and living a pacifistic life."

"I could have told you that," says Anya. "I have a Yarbnie friend - nice enough girl, but no fun, those pacifists. _Terrible _at vengeance. It's all 'oh, we were at different places in our metamorphosis,' wouldn't even let me turn her ex's boxers into piranhas! Not even little piranhas!"

Giles continues, "A diet that consists of processed sugars, roots, and – oh, small rodents."

"Mm, mouse slurpees," says Xander.

"Yeah, he didn't really seem like a bloodthirsty murderer," says Buffy.

"Speaking of which," says Giles, "are you sure leaving him with Spike was the best idea? He does sound like a useful witness, and as he's a demon, there's nothing to prevent Spike's killing him."

"It's fine," says Buffy. "Spike knows I'm stronger than him, and… Milton didn't exactly look appetizing."

"What, vampires don't like jello?" says Xander.

"Xander! Stop comparing my friends to wobbly desserts!" interjects Anya.

"I'm more worried about the M'Fashnik demons," says Tara.

"I agree," I say. "If a bunch of mercenary demons are all getting together, someone really wants to get Buffy."

"Can you think of anyone you may have made enemies with lately?" asks Giles.

"No more than usual," says Buffy. She's been quiet this whole time, her eyes rimmed with red. Despite the Slayer ability to function on less sleep than most people, she looks exhausted.

Giles has the gold specks, too. Not as much as Tara and I, but they're there. Anya has a scattering as well, and Xander one or two. I try to look at Giles, rather than his sparks, as he speaks. "Then I suppose the most direct way to deal with the situation is to raid the household and interrogate the M'Fashniks directly."

We all agree, and Anya offers to help Tara and I with finding a spell to target the M'Fashnik weaknesses. She goes off on a tangent about a curse she once performed (" -The guy really liked toast, right? So I'd go up behind him and make these sounds - whispers, and chains, dripping blood, all that, getting closer and closer, and when he turned around… all he'd see was this piece of toast! By the end, he couldn't even _look _at a grilled cheese -").

I admit Anya and I don't really work well together, but this time her lack of focus is the least of my concerns. I try to focus on the text, but my eyes keep darting up towards Buffy.

There are shapes in the air around her, too. But rather than gold flecks, a blue-black shadow looms around her edges, threatening to close on her like a pair of jaws.


	8. Truth

a/n: Thank you to dummyandi for the review! I hope everyone had a great Easter/Passover/Spring break!

I'm not very experienced with writing romance, so this chapter is me trying something new. I would really appreciate any comments to let me know how I am doing, whether criticism or praise. Thanks for reading!

Red  
Chapter Seven  
Truth

Crosslegged on the bedroom floor, Tara and I get started on the spell. She presses her palms to mine, and warmth flows through me. Just like when we first met. She smiles, her eyes bright oceans. I take a deep breath of the herbs and petals scenting the air around us. A circle of candles flicker around us, casting orange glow on the walls and our skin. I shut my eyes and let myself settle, like sediment falling through layers of ocean.

I'm glad that, with my eyes closed, I don't have to see the sparks, bright or dark. They've faded a bit over the hours, but in a way that's made it worse - my eyes dart towards the corners of my vision, unable to distinguish what I'm _really _seeing, and what I'm imagining.

But I don't want to think of that, not now. Not when I'm here with Tara, emptying my mind and letting her energy pour through me. My cells light up as I open myself to her and our magic rushes together, like electricity flowing under my skin. I can't imagine doing a spell with anyone other than Tara. Letting your essence get so close to somebody else's, that takes absolute trust.

As Tara's magic flows over and around me, my edges vibrate like piano strings. The two of us are notes resonating into a chord. We combine and direct the magic, our bodies a brush moving colour.

Magic blurs the distinction between the power stirring inside us and the energy drawn out of the surrounding world. We're both battery and lightening rod. But in the end, the distinction doesn't matter. We expand beyond our edges, molecules moving faster and faster, the space between them increasing. I feel like you could disintegrate, and it wouldn't even matter, because it would only bring me closer to that power.

But as I focus towards my core, something blocks me. The smoothness of the process turns gritty, corroded gears. Red light punches the back of my eyes and splits my vision.

My eyes jerk open, but it's a while before I can see anything. I feel like when I was seven, climbing trees with Xander and the branch broke. I'd fallen on my back and for terrifying seconds, my lungs forgot how to breathe, and empty space pulled at my insides like crying.

"What's wrong?" says Tara. She touches my thigh, looks at my eyes in a way that makes me feel naked, in all its connotations - exposed and awkward, but also... honest. That intimacy when you can't hide yourself. When you stand before someone and your whole being says, "Here I am."

I'm totally exhausted. Released from the failed spell, I realize I can barely stay upright. I slump forward onto Tara's shoulder, and she touches my cheek. I close my burning eyes and feel her other hand on my back, tracing abstract patterns around my spine.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"For what?" she says.

I can't articulate an answer, but I am sorry. All through my body, a watery tremble of guilt. I should be better than this. I need Tara to keep loving me. I need to be better than this.

Maybe that high school feeling never left. That awareness of being a nerd, not good enough, not like other people. That anxiety whenever someone is kind to you, because you figure it's only a matter of time before they find out the truth.

But sitting beside Tara, my head on her shoulder, I can hear her breathing and it sounds like safety. Her hand on my back, I somehow feel even more connected to her than through our spell together. A history I feel through my whole body tells me things are going to be okay.

"I'm overdrawn," I say. With the words, another black flower of panic blooms inside my head.

"Overdrawn? But you haven't used magic -"

"This morning. I… needed a boost." I cringe, not knowing what's going to come next but feeling that it won't be good.

"Willow, it's okay." She puts her arms around me. I relax in her arms, but that just makes me more overwhelmed. I shake like I'm crying. Then I realize I am.

"I didn't want you to see me like this. I don't want to be weak." The words pour from my mouth like water.

"You could never be weak. You're one of the strongest people I know."

"But my magic…"

"I wasn't talking about magic."

She smiles softly and I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. "I'm sorry," I say again.

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

She hugs me, and I whisper in her ear, "Thank you."

I press my lips to hers and touch the softness of her hair. My body relaxes like unfolding. Our mouths open to each other, warmth spreading into a rhythm familiar and exciting at the same time. She touches the back of my neck, and my whole spinal column seems to wake up. Like I've broken the surface of a dream.

The danger is gone. My nerves are my own.

I'm home.

We kiss deeply, hands moving on skin, bodies pressed together so we can feel each other's heartbeats. "I love you," I breathe, as we move together like paint blending into a new colour.

"I love you, too," she says.


	9. Anchor

Red  
Chapter Eight  
Anchor

Tara's voice wafts over me, whispering a breeze through the room. When I open my eyes, I feel heavy but rested, that sense of falling back into your body after a much needed sleep. Drowsiness lingers in my limbs, a comfortable anchor.

"How's it going?" I smile, turning over on the bed to look at Tara. She traces a calligraphy brush against a thick sheet of paper, leaving blue-black letters in Sanskrit. Tides of ancient words wash through the room, imbued with energy of water and deserts, sand and wind. Forces older than life, alive in their own way.

Tara's eyes meet mine, and she smiles back. "Hi sleepyhead."

"Was I out for long?"

"A couple hours. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got some much-needed rest. And some much-needed Tara time."

"You don't think we've been spending enough time together?"

"No, I didn't mean that. But more is always better." I emerge from the sheets and sit beside her on the floor, brushing a hand against her neck and kissing her cheek. She turns and kisses me back, on the mouth. We both grin.

"And besides," I say, "working on things with Buffy, and helping Dawn with her homework… it's a little different than when it's just us."

She laughs. "I have to agree with you. Everything's been crazy lately. It's nice to have a chance to just be… us."

"Just wonderfully us." I crane my neck to see what she's been writing. "Temporal alteration?"

"You recognized that fast."

"Yeah, I was kind of looking into it, back when Buffy… anyway. It turned out to be a dead end." I flinch at the bad choice of words. I add quickly, "But, good for M'Fashniks! Slowing down the homicidal maniacs, can't go wrong there."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. And if we want information from them, I was thinking we could trap one and cordon it off, let Buffy take out the others - since we're running on limited resources, it sounds like a safer bet than offensive magic."

That hurts a bit - I mean, no one wants to be referred to as "limited resources," do they? - but I make myself nod. "Sounds like it would work. Hey, um, since I am feeling a bit better, mind if I help out?"

"Are you sure you're up to it? You were pretty zonked there."

"I know, but - I'm much more alive now. Tara smooches are pretty effective medicine."

I want her to laugh, but she doesn't. She writes a few more letters, and I scan over the pages. "Made a typo there," I say, pointing to the third column of intricate letters. "Although, the Goddess of Lettuce -"

She quickly adds another stroke to the letter. "We won't distract her from her lettuce-y ongoings," she says. "Though the element of confusion could be pretty interesting." She continues to write, and I wonder if she's just going to ignore my question. But a few seconds later, she says, "I guess it wouldn't hurt if you helped, as long as you were careful -"

"Hey, when have I not been careful?

She doesn't dignify that with an answer. Okay, fair point.

"Well, this time I will be. Careful as a… a very cautious and responsible Willow."

This time she does laugh. "Okay. We'll work on this last part together."

She passes me the ink and brush, returning to find her place in the spellbook. I'm relieved to see there's no sparks around her anymore, not even from close up. We both say the words to open the spell, and our energy pools together and encircles us. Annoyingly, that grinding sense comes to my head again. I grit my teeth and force myself to focus through it.

At first it's like having a migraine and trying to kick down a brick wall all at once. A jolting soreness spreads through my body and jerks blank spaces between my thoughts.

But finally, as though through sheer frustration, the wall comes down and a burst of power floods through me. It's like an iced soda in the middle of a desert. The discomfort washes away in one ecstatic sweep.

Writing the letters doesn't feel so much like creating them as uncovering something that was already in the page. Smoothing away the dust of time to get down to what used to be there. The magical syllables flow through Tara to me, empty through my hands - and it does feel like emptying. With every stroke of the brush, I feel myself hollow out a bit. I think of spinning pottery, pressing your hand into the center to create a hole. The spell swirls around my insides and leaves me a little less than before.

And okay, I see Tara's point about me being too tired for this. But there's a kind of satisfaction in pushing yourself to the limit, knowing you've put all you can into the fight. Like when you stay up late to study for a test, and you're worn out but also happy with how much you've learned and are capable of learning. Only this is more important, because it's not just for my own interests.

What I do in this spell, it really matters. I'm helping my friends. We're saving Sunnydale. I am going to put everything I have into this.


	10. Fire

Red  
Chapter Nine  
Fire

A crossbow bolt splits the chilled blue night. In the forest, a M'fashnik demon bellows as the projectile sinks into its chest. The creature falls to its knees in the deep grass, roaring.

Buffy rises from behind the bushes where she's been hiding with Tara, Giles, and me. She dashes forward, and with a swing of her ax, severs the demon's head and silences the grumble vibrating the air.

But not before the others have heard. A second later, three more M'fashniks burst through the mossy cave opening. They surround Buffy instantly, coming at her with blows from all directions. My eyes can barely keep up with all that's going on - one of the demons comes at her head with a blade, while the others swing at her from front and back. She ducks the blade and one of the punches, deflects the other with her hand, then kicks the knife from the first demon's hand. As a fourth M'fashnik emerges from the cave, she hurtles the ax towards it - and misses. The blade nails into the side of a tree, and the demon roars, pries the weapon free, and charges.

"Now," says Giles, and I force myself to unfreeze. Tara squeezes my hand, and together, we begin the spell.

Energy empties as we speak, saturating the air with a static that prickles my skin. Even before the spell is complete, time seems to slow down and the world go quiet, and it's just Tara and me in the eye of an electrical storm. This spell has no colour itself, but everything around us grows vivid - light pours in and overexposes the snapshot. The navy night turns baby blue and the wavering air reels back and strikes the charging demon, ax suspended above its head.

The beam refracts light like water, then like ice, hardening as it wraps around the M'fashnik. The demon freezes mid-step, and tendrils of magic seep out towards its allies.

The demons slowed down, Buffy jabs one with the butt of her ax, throws another backwards with a kick to the stomach. The third M'fashnik takes advantage of her position to grab her from behind and lift her into the air. Spells are already rushing through my mind when Buffy handles the situation herself, jerking her head backwards to connect with the M'fashnik's jaw with a loud _crack. _The demon reaches towards its jaw and she slips free from its other hand. She kicks it in the chest and the demon keels over, and she quickly snaps its neck.

The two remaining demons look back, then dash into the coverage of trees.

"Ow," says Buffy, touching the back of her head.

"You okay?" I ask, running up to meet her.

"You wouldn't happen to have any demon-strength Tylenol?" I shake my head, and she says, "I'll live. Now let's find out what the hell is going on."

We walk towards the frozen demon, and the ground seems to disappear. I step forward and a black wave rises up to swallow me.

A second later, I've fallen backwards and Giles' hands are at my back, steadying me. "Are you alright?" he asks.

The rusted gears are grinding in my head world around me fades in and out, like the blur when a camera lens adjusts focus. I straighten myself and try to feel solid again. "Just a bit tired from the spell."

It's the truth, minus the detail of the energy-transfer this morning. But I can tell he doesn't believe me - after all, Tara and I did tonight's spell together and she's fine. But Giles doesn't press the issue, at least not yet.

Tara takes my hand and we walk towards the demon. Buffy gets there first, reclaiming her ax from its place suspended in the air. As we approach, Tara begins another spell, and I fight the urge to join in. Despite the temptation of a blast of spell energy, it won't do anything good for the headache tap-dancing on my brain.

Speaking carefully, Tara unfurls an immobilization spell. It's slower work than the time-stop one, and as she speaks, I can sense her energy drain. Her words get slower and her eyes lose some of their brightness, and it's killing me that I can't join in. Not for the rush this time, but to help her. I know she's strong, but… she's my person, and I don't like seeing her hurt.

She finishes the spell in one triumphant syllable, and I put my arms around her waist and lean my head on her shoulder. She leans her head against mine and smiles. The rhythm of her breathing relaxes me, even in the adrenaline-y circumstances.

"Who sent you?" says Giles, interrupting a growl from the demon.

The demon glares back, then grimaces as its arms and legs fail to move.

"We were promised the Slayer," says the demon.

"Promised by who?" Giles' voice is sharp enough to cut, and I'm glad we're on the same side.

The demon narrows its eyes. "Couple humans. All look the same."

"Lead us to them," says Giles.

"Don't reveal clients."

Giles presses a hand against the demon's windpipe. The demon chokes, eyes wide with pain and surprise. "Lead us."

Something flashes in the wide milky eyes, and I know we're in trouble. It's not a conscious thought - there's movement, and the demon's mouth twitches up in triumph, and my mind processes this before my brain can put it into words. I wheel around in time to see the two demons from before, charging forward with a snap of branches. And I don't need to think to know what I have to do.

The gears in my head stop grinding and _spin. _All the power-regulations are off, and I'm using every shortcut I know to wire as much energy for _right now. _

A blast of electricity bursts from my hands, leaping white into the air and jolting the two demons backwards. My skin feels raw, but it's an observation rather than a complaint. I don't feel quite attached to my body anymore. The information from my nerve endings comes through, but doesn't translate into emotion or meaning. All that matters is protecting my friends.

The demons shake off the static and continue to approach, slower but angrier. Electricity isn't going to be enough. And I should trust Buffy to handle it, but all I can see are images of Buffybot, torn to pieces that night we brought her back.

I speak quickly. The syllables stream from my mouth harsh and heavy, like spitting out pebbles. Something burning cold rushes into my skin. My edges seem to fray, and I expand past myself, unable to place where I end and the night begins.

I reach out and everything inside me floods through my hands. A black blaze flows from my fingers and surrounds each demon in a dark flame.

The flames fleck black-purple into the night. Or maybe they're not flames. More like rips in space. Their coldness prickles my skin, and they burn with the sound of air rushing away.

There's a _snap _and all the life rushes out of me. The flames disappear, and I fall to the ground. The string that held me up has been cut, and my spine isn't enough to support me.

And forever, there is nothing.

"Willow!" The voice is Buffy's. I feel like I have pillows over my ears. Without emotion, I wonder if I am still alive. I can't find my body, can't feel anything.

Then, from nowhere, I am somewhere. But it's not somewhere I know.

**A/N**: Thank you so much **TazFlan93** for the review on the last chapter! I'm sorry to end this on such a cliffhanger, but the chapter was getting long and I thought I should cut it off here. I have lots of ideas for the next chapter and will try to post as soon as possible!

The update schedule might be a bit irregular for the next while. My relationship of two years just ended, and I'm kind of struggling to figure out what to do now. But I think spending time on writing might be a good way to deal with things, so I will do my best to update often.


	11. Hell

Red  
Chapter Ten  
Hell

The bleached white hallway blunts and echoes sound: the rattle and hum of flourescent lights, my shoes on the bare tiles. Conversation creeps and mutters around the corner down the empty hall, individual words indistinguishable from the soft wave of noise.

"Buffy? Tara?" I call. "Giles?" I flinch at the sound of my voice as it reverberates back, laced with fear and too loud in the empty space. I don't know what the mumbling voices will do if they find me. The air is warm, but my skin rises into goosebumps and my whole body is jumpy. But the voices go on talking, uninterrupted.

As I walk down the white tiles, a woman's sobs grow louder. I follow to the sound to a room with no door, just a space with two white beds, each with papery sheets and a white curtain. There are no windows, and the bad light bleaches out every remaining colour. When I look down at my hands, the whiteness makes them look dead.

In both beds, the curtain is open. In one, a woman with short hair and pale eyes lies rigid on her side beneath the covers. She stares straight at me, but her haunted eyes don't seem to take me in. She stares right through, her face frozen and terrified. I look behind me to see what she's looking at, but there's only the white unbroken wall.

In the other bed, the crying woman curls in on herself and shakes with noise. She hugs her knees like she's trying to become as small as possible, trying to shrink out of existence. Her hair is a thin, grey-white cloud, and it's hard to see an older person so... unprotected. She's as vulnerable as a child, her pain exposed and unalloyed. Her cheekbones press into her skin, sharp with hunger, and even in the fluorescent lights her skin is red with exhaustion. Tears shine over her face and darken the bedsheets.

"Hey," I say, kneeling down beside her. "What's wrong?"

She keeps crying. Like I cried at home after Jesse died, when one of my first friends had been ripped out of the world and Xander and I couldn't even tell anyone about the thing that murdered him. The crying that only stopped because we believed in Buffy. And then, like we all cried when we'd lost her, too.

This is how people cry when the world is in pieces. This is how we fall apart.

I touch her arm, curled against her chest like she's pressing down to keep her heart inside her body. Her skin is soft and dry, and she doesn't respond at all. "Hello?" I say, but she doesn't even look up.

I rise to my feet, and my breath catches – what if I am dead? My hand shakes as I reach out to touch the wall, but I don't pass through. I'm solid. I'm here.

What does _here _mean?

I tell myself I'm being silly – of course I'm not a ghost. I touched the woman's hand and I felt her, and yeah, she didn't feel me back, but I didn't slip through her or anything. And my shoes click on the linoleum, and I'm breathing! The smell of disinfectant burns my nose, and the fumey dizziness becomes reassuring.

_But what if this is a hell dimension? _

When Buffy was gone, I had nightmares about fire, demons, darkness. The factory Buffy told me about once, where people laboured for demons until they wore themselves to death. The century of violence and pain that changed Angel into someone we couldn't even recognize.

This is worse. In the dreams, when my heart shook inside me like this, I woke up. And the world was lonely and empty of Buffy, but Tara would hold me and talk to me and when she told me we could make things better, I believed her.

We were alone in the center of night, but we were alone together, and we had hope – we believed in each other more than any magic, and we believed in Buffy. If anyone could break out of hell, it was her, and even if... even if I never saw her again, I somehow _knew_ she'd be okay.

I... I don't think I realized that until now. Or maybe I just couldn't admit it, that I wasn't half as afraid for her as I was for us. Maybe I _was _selfish, and arrogant, and... all those things Giles said. Maybe in the end, I really did just miss my friend, and that was enough. That was enough to make the world fall apart.

Buffy is stronger than me, in a way that has nothing to do with being the slayer. She introduced me to this world, and I never thought about living in it without her.

"No! You've got to – listen to me!" My head snaps up at the sound of the voice, and though it's strangled with desperation, the sound of her unlocks a rush of excitement in my blood. Outside, something metallic clatters to the floor. "They're in here!" she shouts. I run out, forgetting to be afraid.

She's in a blue robe, her hair wild around her face as she struggles. Two women and one man in white coats surround her, holding back her arms as she twists to get out.

"Buffy, they're not real," one of the women – a nurse, I realize – is saying. "Nothing is going to hurt –"

"It's not just me!" Buffy chokes out. Her voice is raw and reminds me of Dawn. Dawn before she's going to cry or slam her door. Even when I first met Buffy, she seemed more grown-up than Dawn. I've never heard this frantic fear in her before never heard her sound so young, and my throat closes once again up with the feeling that everything is wrong.

"Ask Alissa, she saw them too! Ask anyone!"

"Buffy," says the male nurse, more sharply. "This is a safe place. No one dangerous can get in, and there are lots of us around to keep you safe. If you come with us, and just try to breathe, we'll find some medicine to help clear your head. Everything will be okay."

She pulls out of his grasp and runs. _She could have fought them off, easily, _I realize. _But she wanted them to listen to her._

"Buffy!" The male nurse shouts, and the three run to follow her.

I start to move too, but my limbs catch and the air thickens. The world constricts, the edges of my vision swarming into blackness. Visutally, it's like I'm losing consciousness, but physically I feel like I'm turning into stone. The scene narrows and narrows into sandy black, until there's nothing but the dream-remnants of colour, shaking on the dark.

And then a gunshot. The noise folds through the blackness and light emerges, grainy and eye-stinging. The room is t.v. bright and split open with screams.

I look forward and see myself, blood on my clothes and my face distorted into same the expression the crying woman in the hospital wore, a naked O of horror.

My eyes lower and I scream.

.

"Willow!" Tara steadies me as I break the surface of the dream, sitting up in bed with my lungs empty as my throat spills fear that feels like it will shatter my insides and slice open my skin.

"It's okay," she says, catching me in her arms as I slump forward. Her voice is like oxygen, and my lungs are crushed with drowning. "You're okay. Willow. You're okay. I love you. It's okay."

I look up at her. My vision traces the shape of her eyes and mouth and face, unable to trust myself that it's really her, here, fine. I reach out and press my hand to her cheek. Her skin is smooth and warm.

I hold on to her. With my ear pressed to her chest and filled with the sound of her heartbeat, I cry.


	12. Morning

A big thank you to Shinara66 for the reviews and encouraging words! I had some writer's block lately, so it took a while to write this chapter, and I'm not sure I would have written it at all if you hadn't given me the motivation I needed. I hope to have the next chapter posted much more quickly!

Thank you for reading!

Red  
Chapter Eleven  
Morning

Tara and I hold each other close for the rest of the night. I don't tell her what I saw, and she doesn't press for answers. I don't fall asleep again; I listen to her breathing in the dark, as though if I stop listening it may stop. I snuggle close, my cheek against the softness of her hair and the warmth of her shoulder. Reminding myself _this is real. _Whatever I saw, Tara's okay. She's safe.

_For now. _

I don't trust myself to close my eyes again. I watch the colours on the ceiling blend from black to dark blue, light blue to whiteish pink. The alarm clock clicks, and guitar strings vibrate softly through the speaker. Tara stirs, makes a waking sound as she reaches to turn off the radio.

I kiss her good morning and she smiles, the new light flitting off her blue-water eyes. "Good sleep?" I ask.

"Yeah, I didn't realize how tired I was. How are you feeling?"

"Better," I say. "It was good to have you there when I woke up."

She hugs me close. "I'll always be here for you."

"Really?"

Her smile fades a bit. "Of course. Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just… it's good to hear. That nightmare got me all out of whack. It's nice to know things are okay."

"Maybe you should ask Giles about the dream," says Tara. "Did it seem mystical at all?"

"I'm not sure. It seemed… weird. I guess the two kinda go together."

"Maybe it's an aftereffect of the spell you used last night. That was really potent magic, and you were already exhausted."

"I know, but I had to —"

"I know," she says. I breathe in, realize my words have come out in a rush. How come, every time magic use comes up, I prepare myself for an argument? Especially when it's the thing that brought us together.

It's annoying how much can't be fixed with spells, or hard work, or with caring so much you feel like your heart will shatter. I can't place where I went wrong, but I know it will take time to fix.

Tara says, "You did what you had to. But please, be careful. I love you so much," she touches my cheek, and I'm shocked by the concern in her eyes. Guilt twists through me at seeing how worried I made her. Especially when I didn't even realize I was doing it. "I just want you to be safe."

"I love you, too." I kiss her and comb my hand through her hair. She smiles, but there's still worry in her eyes. "And I promise I'll be careful."

Today is a Friday, so Tara starts class before me. We get dressed and I give her a long hug at the door. Before she goes, she says, "You're sure you're feeling better? If you want, I can stay with you."

I want that more than anything. But if I let myself think Tara is in danger, I won't be able to dismiss what I saw as just a dream. And besides, I think I need to talk to Buffy alone. "Thanks, but I really am okay. I'll see you in a couple hours for psych?"

"I'll save you a seat," she says.

She turns to walk down the pathway, and I say, "Be safe!"

She turns back, looking at me oddly, but then she smiles. "Thank you, you too." She waves, and I watch as she gets smaller and smaller with each step into the sunny, green morning-world, until she turns out of sight. Bird sounds and the scent of flowers ornaments the air. There's no sign that anything is wrong. No sign of the monsters and vampires that run around at night, no indication we're living on a hellmouth. In the light, Sunnydale looks like any other town.

I close the door and step back inside. Dawn has already left for school, and the house is quiet. The clock on the coffee table whispers clicks beside a photo of Buffy, Dawn, and their mom.

Then Buffy's voice cries, "Eep!" from the kitchen, and I run to see what's wrong.

When I get there, she looks up from the sink and smiles guiltily, holding a frying pan. The room smells of syrup and smoke. "I lost control of my pancakes," she says. "I, um, didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I've been up for a while. Bad dreams."

"I know the feeling," she says.

I take her place at the sink, where she's scraping the burnt batter off a frying pan. A second pan of less-burnt breakfast sizzles and pops on the stove.

She says, "I was going to surprise you with breakfast, so… surprise! A very… crunchy surprise." She pries the remaining pancakes out of the pan and puts them on a plate with some others from previous batches. All are at least slightly scorched.

"They look great," I say, and she gives me a look. "Well, maybe not… visually. But I'm sure they taste wholesome and breakfast-y."

"Thanks," she says as we sit down at the table. "Mom used to make these for Dawn and me on weekends — well, the less charcoaled version of these. I was feeling kind of nostalgic so I thought I'd try it." She sighs. "You're dead a few months and suddenly everything's a lot harder."

"It's better than where you were, though… isn't it?"

Her mouth twists at the corner, and for a moment I wonder if she's going to cry. I chastise myself for bringing back such traumatic memories, but the expression vanishes so quickly I'm not sure if I imagined it, and she says, "Yeah. Yeah, of course. It's just a… process. And there's not exactly an ex-dead support group in town."

I nod, taking a bite of the pancake. I don't have much of an appetite after last night, but I want her to know I appreciate it, her being more with the interacting again.

She continues, "And being in the house all day, it still feels weird not having Mom here. You'd think fighting the undead would leave me less terrified of bills, and job hunting, and… grown-up stuff."

"I know it's hard," I say, "and it isn't fair how this is all coming down on you at once. But we're all here for you. Giles, and Xander, and Tara and I, and — even Anya, in her weird way — all of us will do anything we can to help you."

"Thanks," says Buffy. "I wish I could get through a night without those weird nightmares. Maybe I wouldn't feel so out of it that way." Brightening her voice, she adds, "Sorry for the complaint-dump. I'm sure things will work out."

"It's okay," I say. "Actually, I wanted to ask you — my dreams were strange too last night, do you think it might have something to do with yours? Or with the prophecies you see sometimes?"

"I dunno," she says, tilting her head. "What did you dream?"

"It was really… intense. Like, it seemed so real, except… except it didn't make any sense."

My voice catches and she says, "Wil, what's wrong? What did you see?"

"I was…" I breathe in, then out. In. "I was watching myself, and Tara was there — I was holding her, she'd lost a lot of blood, I don't think she… I think she… Buffy, it was so _real." _

She comes around the table touches my shoulder. "I'm sure it was just a dream. Tara's strong, and we're looking out for her too. No demons have a chance against your girlfriend."

"It didn't look like demons," I say quietly. "It looked like she was… shot."

"See, that's another reason it couldn't have been a prophecy," says Buffy. "No one could want to hurt Tara. She's one of the sweetest people I've ever met."

I think of Tara's family. A shiver trickles up my spine at what they did to her, all the years she spent terrified. But they don't want anything to do with her anymore. Even if the psychological harm they inflicted isn't any better than physical harm, they wouldn't _kill _her… would they?

"I'm scared, Buffy."

"No one is going to lay a finger on Tara," she says firmly. "We've got two awesome Wicca, the slayer, a super-smart British watcher, a vengeance demon, and… Xander's construction worker powers. No one's getting through to hurting any one of us."

My heart is still going a million miles a minute, but the knot in my chest loosens and I manage to breathe again. "Thanks, Buffy."

"No problem," she says. "Let's give Giles a call after breakfast, tell him to put everyone on the alert. Just to be on the safe side. Actually, he wanted to talk to you anyway. He was pretty freaked when you passed out."

"Is he mad at me?" I ask.

"He was worried. He'll be glad to hear you're feeling alright — you _are _feeling alright… right?"

"Yeah," I say with a nod. "Sorta rattled, but totally fine in the physical and magical senses." Then I remember something. "There was another dream last night. It was in some kind of hospital… I think it was the psychiatric unit. Everyone seemed so miserable, and you were there, but you were younger. You told the nurses that some vampires had gotten in, but they didn't listen. And then the dream changed to… you know."

When I look up at Buffy, her face is pale. Her expression looks as though she's been slapped. "Buffy, are you okay?"

"I am," she says. "But we really need to find out what's going on."


	13. Distortion

Thank you again to Shinara66 for the kind review! And to the anonymous guest, I'm glad you are interested in this story!

Red  
Chapter Twelve  
Distortion

"...and these extremely vivid memories, known as flashbulb memories, tend to be formed when? Yes, Miss Rosenberg?"

"During times of intense emotion."

"And are they an accurate record of events?"

"Not necessarily. Any type of memory can become distorted over time, in order to fit the narrative our minds construct about what is true."

"Very well put. The world, as we perceive it, is subject to our own biases, rather than an objective reality. There are instances in which we cannot necessarily trust what our own perception tells us." The professor looks at her watch and frowns. "I seem to have kept you late. You're free to go, have a lovely weekend everyone."

As we join the students streaming into the hallway, Tara says, "How's Buffy doing?"

"Good!" I say, maybe a bit too brightly. "She made pancakes this morning, and we talked for a bit – it's nice, to see her more with the talking again."

I don't mention her reaction to the dream, which has been on my mind since the morning. After her cousin dying in hospital, and then her mom passing away so soon after coming home from her there... I can see why the mention of the place could affect her that way. Still, I'm not sure if it's because I'm on edge, but I got the impression there was something she wasn't telling me.

"What did you talk about?" asks Tara.

"That weird thing last night – oh, and we called Giles. We're meeting at six at the Magic Box today."

"Today? But I have my group project... hold on, I'll see if I can find Matt and Jen and reschedule –"

"It's okay, I don't want to make you change your plans. I can fill you in on what we talk about."

"Are you sure? If you're in danger that's more important than the project — I'll say something personal came up, they'll understand."

"Well, I don't want to mess up your schedule…"

"Wil, is there something you're not telling me?" She stops walking and I do too, missing the distracting of moving my legs. I fidget with my hands as I scroll through my mind for something to say. Before I find something, she says, "I know I'm not as strong as you, but I have been practicing magic since I was a kid. I'd like to at least try to help."

She is right. I need her there. And I'm going to have to tell her eventually. "I'm... sorry I didn't tell you everything. It wasn't because I doubted your magic skills." She looks at me, and I look back into her eyes, then away. "The dream I had... it was about you. I dreamed you got hurt."

I don't like how my voice comes out. All the anxiety I've been pushing down spills out through my lips.

"Hey," she says, touching my cheek. "It's okay. We'll figure out what's going on."

My first thought is that she doesn't believe me. That she doesn't think the dream is anything more than a regular nightmare. I'm not sure whether to feel hurt or grateful.

"You don't think it meant anything?" I say.

"I'm not sure," she says. "I was beside you when it happened, and the way you were shaking... it was pretty scary. But even if it did mean something, magical clues tend to be misleading – remember that story you told me, about when Buffy fought the master?"

I nod. It's a good point. Still, the bloody image of the dream has been floating in my mind's eye all day, making me feel deeply ill. I can't think of any way that scene could turn out okay in the end.

"Why would the powers want me to see that?"

"We don't know that it was them," says Tara. "Someone is after Buffy, and that makes us all targets. The dream could have been planted as a way to throw you off."

That... actually makes a lot of sense. And if it's true, it's been working – if I'd been thinking clearly, I would have already realized that was a possibility.

"You're taking this really well," I say.

She smiles softly. "I feel safe with you."

Giles, Buffy, Xander and Anya gather around as I describe the dream, Tara sitting beside me. Concern shows in her mouth and eyes as I talk, especially when I mention the gunshot. But she holds my hand as I tell the story, and her expression never shows the same dread pounding in my chest.

When I'm finished, Xander says, "Geez. Scary stuff."

Anya says, "What was that spell you did before you passed out? Maybe it had weird nightmare side effects – like pickles."

"It wasn't really anything," I say. "I just kind of mustered up a bunch of energy and... poofed it." I remember the feeling, slipping out of my skin and into a stream of energy. I must have been gone less than a second, but that time made the ordinary world look flat and colourless, a sketch on paper, compared to a world where even the air buzzed against my senses. I felt the constant motion of the atoms of my body, electrons spinning around my molecules, everything shaking and alive. I understood in physical terms how all my molecules and all those of the world around me were in constant motion, filling in each others' spaces, no separation.

I reached out to touch that energy like a bird bringing its wings down on a lake, prismatic droplets arching into flight. I cupped my hands beneath the night water and drew up as much magic as I could, heavy and black, the bright points of stars zooming in from every direction. And then I put myself back into my body, and I let the magic free.

"Poofed" doesn't really cover it.

Giles touches his hand to his forehead and the bridge of his nose as though he has a headache. "Willow, may I speak with you a moment in private?"

Despite the politeness, I know it isn't really a question. I follow him into the back room, while he tells the others, "We'll be back shortly, please continue this discussion."

Amongst the crates of magical imports, he says, "That was especially irresponsible. Calling upon magical forces without any plan not only leaves you prone to overexertion, it leaves an extremely visible energy signature. Any kind of supernatural threat could have been drawn to that kind of display."

"Well, then we could have fought them off!" I burst. "Which wouldn't have been an option if I'd done nothing and we'd died."

"We have all faced significantly more imposing foes and emerged unscathed. I know you feel you did what had to be done, and that is precisely what worries me." He looks at me in a way I'm not used to. It's not a teacher's expression, not even a disappointed teacher. It's the way my mom tries to look at me but never quite gets right.

He continues, "I have no doubts as to your ability as a witch. But you've been valuable in the fight against the forces of darkness since long before you developed those skills, and you will be no help to your friends if you become obsessed with raw power. The Willow Rosenberg I know is not merely a witch, but an intelligent woman and compassionate friend, both of which are more valuable attributes."

"Thanks," I say, "but isn't that the type of person you'd _want _to be using magic?"

"Yes. That is precisely why I fear you practicing if you lose sight of who you are."

"Are you really so worried that's going to happen?" I say, hurt.

"Unfortunately yes." He exhales and begins to pace. "Willow, when you resurrected Buffy, you crossed a threshold. And even if the end results were desirable –"

"You mean Buffy's _life?"_

"— if you convince yourself the ends justify the means, you will do far more harm than good!"

His eyes burn blue behind his glasses, and his intensity frightens me. I say, "What do you want me to do?"

"If I cannot dissuade your interest in dark magic, I will make damn well sure you know the consequences of these spells. I will lend you several texts on magical history, and you will come here every day at closing time having read them. Understood?"

"Yeah," I say, though I'm sure my confusion shows. Rather than a punishment, this sounds like the sort of thing I would already do for fun. And even if we're arguing, the high school self inside me is kind of flattered that Giles is letting me take home the magic texts he keeps such a close eye on.

"Good," he says. "Let us rejoin the others."

When we go back in the room, the others look up, and Anya takes it upon herself to break the awkward silence. "How did your private conversation go?"

Xander interjects before either of us have to answer. "We were just saying how Buffy was the one who caught Willow when she fell, so maybe some of Buffy's wonky dreams transferred over to Wil. Is that, a um, thing that happens?"

"You would have been susceptible to magical energy, having just exhausted yourself," says Tara. "Though Buffy's nightmares would have to have some kind of magical basis for that to be the case."

"You know I don't like to be blunt, but if they're not magical, why are we talking about them?" says Anya. "I have a recurring dream where I'm crowned Queen of the Shrimp, but you don't see me calling a meeting about it – and frankly, my dream seems much more likely than Buffy going to an institution and yelling about vampires."

"The closest thing we've got to a lead is what that demon said," says Buffy. "We know someone in Sunnydale is after us, we know they're human and they've got connections to the demon underworld. We get Spike to ask around at demon bars for anyone who's been hanging out with M'fashniks, and it should be a short list to follow up."

Everyone at the table looks expectantly at Giles, and he takes a moment to catch on. "Oh. Yes, that sounds like a reasonable plan. Though you're all adults, you don't need to ask my permission." That last sentence irks me, as apparently I'm the only one who needs tabs kept on her. I push down the part of me that wants to argue about that, remembering his strange intensity a few minutes ago.

He hands me several thick volumes, already bookmarked to certain chapters, and I wonder how long he's been thinking about this.


End file.
